


I don't want to be like you (but I already am)

by LivviBee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Alpha Derek Hale, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Biting, Blood and Injury, Consent Issues, Dark Peter Hale, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Dreams, Dubious Morality, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, Shifted Sex, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivviBee/pseuds/LivviBee
Summary: “You,” Peter said, stroking his thumb over the cuff of Stiles’ shirt, “my dear boy, would be more than family, more precious to me than breathing, but you aren’t capable of comprehending how as you are now."
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 31
Kudos: 310
Collections: Steter Discord Valentine's Exchange 2021





	I don't want to be like you (but I already am)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarvera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarvera/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day Tarvera. I was so excited to get you as a recipient and I hope you enjoy this. <3

“Do you want the bite?” Peter’s words echoed in Stiles’ ears as they stood in the hospital parking garage. 

Stiles stared dumbly, he couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “What?”

“Do you _want_ the _bite_?” Peter looked at Stiles like he was an idiot. “If it doesn't kill you - and it could - you'll become like us.”

“Like you-”

“Yes, a werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?” Peter asked sardonically. “That first night in the woods, I was confused, still out of my mind with years of grief and agony. I needed a pack, like a family to anchor me, needed it too desperately to make good decisions.” Stiles watched wordlessly, transfixed, as Peter leaned in holding Stiles’ wrist up at an angle, almost like he was going to kiss over his pulse point, but with teeth bared in a feral grin. Peter’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “Your exquisite scent was all over him. It should have been you instead of that idiot Scott, so I’m asking you now. Yes or no?”

“Are you saying you’re not confused now?” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Dude, there’s a dead body in your trunk!”

Peter grimaced at the moniker and tsked mockingly. “Come now Stiles, I’m waiting for an answer.”

Stiles’ wrist was still firmly grasped in Peter’s hand. “Pack- You said it’s like a family. That would make me part of your family?”

“You,” Peter said, stroking his thumb over the cuff of Stiles’ shirt, “my dear boy, would be more than family, more precious to me than breathing, but you aren’t capable of comprehending how as you are now.”

Stiles was flustered, tracing Peter’s handsome, scarless face with his eyes, looking for truth in his words. That needy part of him that craved family, togetherness, being a priority, that he kept buried was all but shouting in his mind, _say yes, say yes!_ Stiles reminded himself that this man, this werewolf, was a crazed killer, the evidence of which Stiles had seen multiple times.

Shaking his head against his own thoughts, Stiles ignored the voice in the back of his head that pointed out he’d absolutely go on a revenge spree in the same circumstances, and said, “I don’t want to be like you.”

Quicker than Stiles could pull his arm away, Peter’s teeth shifted, and he sank his gleaming fangs into Stiles’ vulnerable flesh. 

“Ow!” Stiles flinched and tried to pull his arm back, stopped by the warning growl that emerged from Peter’s throat. “Dude, what the hell?! I just said I don’t wanna be like you!”

Peter pulled carefully back from Stiles’ wrist, revealing through the rips in the fabric a surprisingly neat series of punctures that were rapidly filling with blood. Stiles watched his fangs shift into bloody teeth that were bared in a savage grin. “First of all, don’t call me dude. Second, do you know the funny thing about a lie? It makes your heart beat faster. I could smell your wanting, your desire, hear your heart skip over the word ‘don’t.’

“I don’t care!” Stiles snapped, yanking his bleeding wrist out of Peter’s grasp and cradling it to his chest. “No means no! Fuck! I’m bleeding all over my shirt, my dad’s going to kill me-”

Snatching Stiles’ wrist back, Peter flicked open the button and pulled Stiles’ sleeve down, revealing his wrist which he wrapped firmly in a bandage he pulled from his jacket pocket. “There, safe and sound. Keep pressure on that.”

“I’m so _not_ safe and sound! You just said I might die!” Stiles’ voice pitched high in his indignation even as he wrapped his hand obediently around his wrist, pressing against the bandage. “Besides, what’s with the gauze? Did you plan this?”

Peter leveled Stiles a long look, then leaned in and sniffed the air around his neck. “I could tell then and I can tell now, it’s going to take.” 

Stiles flinched back, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and with having a wolf literally at his throat. “Hey Mr. Bad-Touch, I’m up here, and this is still not okay! I’m covered in blood, what am I supposed to tell my dad?”

Peter tsked impatiently, shrugged out of his jacket, and began unbuttoning his deep red shirt. 

“Oh no, no way!” Stiles yelled, “You can absolutely keep your clothes on!”

“Didn’t you just imply that you needed a way to hide all the blood?” Peter rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I carry around stain removers?”

“I mean- Yes, you do kin-”

“Shut up Stiles, and take off your shirt.”

“I’m not getting naked in a parking garage!”

Peter leered at Stiles as he finished unbuttoning and sliding out of his shirt, revealing his muscular chest that Stiles tried not to look too closely at. “Nobody said anything about getting naked, but I like where your head is.”

Stiles simultaneously blushed and recoiled. “ _Ugh_ , creeper.”

“Now!” Peter snapped with flashing red eyes, losing patience. 

Stiles jumped and began quickly unbuttoning his shirt, fingers stumbling over the buttons. “Fine!” 

Once it was off, Stiles stood awkwardly, holding the shirt in front of his pale body until Peter snatched it out of his hands and shoved his own shirt into Stiles’ grip. 

“Put that on.”

The shirt was loose around the shoulders, hanging down from his lithe body. Stiles watched with annoyed curiosity as Peter opened the car door and rummaged around in the backseat, pulling out a long sleeve v-neck sweater. 

Stiles’ jaw dropped as Peter pulled this sweater over his head. “What?! You had a clean shirt in the car the whole time? Why am I wearing this one?!”

Peter glared at Stiles. “Just put on the shirt.”

Stiles pulled on the shirt and buttoned it quickly before asking with annoyance, “Can I go now?”

“Yes.” Peter waved Stiles off. “I’ll find you later when we’ll need to talk.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of terror and confusion. Being interrogated first by his father then by hunters, horribly aware of the fresh bite on his wrist hidden under Peter’s shirt, feverishly trying to prepare for a confrontation, driving Jackson’s Porsche through the woods up in the woods by the Hale house, panicking when he was Peter in his Alpha form towering over his best friend, helping to set Peter on fire, watching Peter’s burnt body with horror and guilt as Derek put him down like a horse with a broken leg. 

It was a relief to finally get home and safely into bed, even if he _did_ have to backtrack to the hospital garage with his spare key, hoping his father would never ask where the original had gone. He was exhausted and hadn’t even bothered with a shower, just shucked his clothes and got in bed. The night had been long and horrifying, full of events he never cared to repeat. Stiles sank down gratefully into his sheets, pulling the covers up to his chin, and fell almost instantly into a deep sleep. 

Stiles was running full tilt through the woods, tripping through the undergrowth and dodging saplings, heart threatening to beat out of his chest as the terrifying excited howls grew ever closer. The landscape was flickering and changing around him, one moment he was running downhill with his sneakers sliding on fallen leaves, the next scrabbling over rocky terrain that tore at his palms as he climbed over boulders. Spying a rushing stream surrounded by a deep purple mist, he splashed through, fording upstream against the current for as long as he could stand the icy water, then shot back out onto the muddy riverbank, resuming his breathless sprint. He ran longer than he ever had before, even longer than the laps Finstock had sentenced him to for being late to practice, even farther than that summer Stiles had worked toward getting on the cross-country team, clutching the stitch in his side as his sneakers pounded the dry forest floor. 

Finally, the howls seemed to grow more distant, then stopped, just when he thought he couldn’t run anymore. Stiles slowed down, chest heaving, bent over and grabbing at his knees as he suppressed the urge to vomit from sheer exhaustion, and took stock of his surroundings. He was on the edge of a large moonlight clearing, the waxing moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the opening in the forest. Stiles walked slowly out into the clearing, spellbound by the beauty of the night, stars awash and twinkling in the inky canvas of the sky, galaxies and nebulae stretched across his view in colors Stiles couldn’t even name. The wind was playing through the branches while an owl hooted softly in a nearby tree. Stiles exhaled in relief, breathing returning to normal, he’d clearly managed to lose the pursuing wolf. 

“Oof-” All of Stiles’ breath left his body as he was knocked to the ground by 160 pounds of dense muscle and fur, toppling over as he was pounced on from the back. He barely managed to stop his head from knocking painfully on the dirt by virtue of his scraped palms. Stiles whimpered pitifully as he realized the wolf was crouched over his body, forepaws bigger than his hands on either side of his arms, snout nosing into his neck, snuffling into him and licking the sweat away, and something hard his brain skittered away from identifying poking into Stiles’ lower back. 

“Nice wolfy,” Stiles shakily crooned as he tried to edge forward from underneath the wolf, “good wolfy-” 

Freezing as the wolf let out a threatening growl, Stiles felt him continue licking away at the back and sides of his neck. It was so strange but felt so good to have that tongue bathing his flesh, so dangerous to have a wild animal at his neck. Stiles felt his dick begin to take interest with a rush of humiliation that only made him harder, and resumed his wiggling trying to get away from the wolf. Teeth nipped into the back of his neck, making him stiffen where he lay, message clearly received. 

Stiles’ breath whooshed out in terror as the wolf lifted one paw, with gleaming, razor-sharp claws extended, and dragged it down his back, scratching at Stiles’ skin in stinging lines of sharp pain as tears spilled down his face, splitting the fabric of his shirt in two pieces that fell down his sides. The cold night air spilled over his exposed and scratched skin, leaving him feeling even more helpless under the wolf. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked himself hysterically as the nosing at his body moved southward, sniffling down his back and licking at the bloody trails leaking from the claw marks, and then down and around his waist, before narrowing in on the top of his jeans. The wolf was licking the exposed skin, broad strokes of the wolf’s tongue leaving warm trails on his lower back that contrasted sharply with the cool night air. 

Stiles whined wordlessly as the wolf nosed around his waistband before sinking his teeth in and tugging impatiently. The jeans snagged around Stiles’ hips, and the wolf let out another deep growl of displeasure before lifting a paw, like he was going to slice Stiles’ jeans off the same as his shirt. Stiles didn’t want those claws anywhere near his sensitive parts, so hurriedly lifted his pelvis and unbuttoned his jeans with shaking hands before pushing them down around his hips. He stopped once the top of his boxers were exposed, and the wolf let out a short huff, like he was somehow exasperated with him, before grabbing the back of his jeans and his boxers in his teeth and savagely tugging them down, down past his ass, almost to his knees. 

Moaning in fear as the cool air hit his exposed skin and the wolf began nosing around the crease of his ass and thighs, Stiles shivered as the wolf nudged and pushed against his cheeks like he wanted him to lift up again. 

“Oh no, this is so not happening,” Stiles said shakily,” I have to draw the line some- Ow!” 

The wolf nipped at Stiles’ left cheek, leaving behind a sharp snap of pain that Stiles could already feel was beginning to bleed. Stiles quickly scooted his knees forward until his ass was propped in the air, head hidden in his folded arms, head spinning with humiliation and fear, and worse, dick now throbbing hard between his legs. 

Suppressing sudden panic as the wolf began to climb on top of him, wrapping his huge paws around Stiles’ shoulders, and poking his dick wildly against Stiles’ cheeks, trying to find his target, Stiles shivered and moaned with competing fear and desire as he felt the wolf’s sticky fluids coating his skin. The wolf growled in frustration, humping forward wildly until Stiles felt the tip of his dick pressing against his hole, and beginning to slide inside with one smooth, inexorable motion. 

Stiles sat up in a cold sweat as his alarm went off, sheets clinging to his body and hard-on full and aching, practically drilling a hole through the covers. “Fuck,” he swore to himself softly as he slapped carelessly at his alarm clock, “that was a weird one.” Stiles’ sleep-fogged mind was still full of claws tracing his skin, sharp teeth digging threateningly into the back of his neck, fear and lust tangled between his hips, scents he couldn’t identify still fresh in his nose.

What _was_ that smell? It smelled _good_. Past the comforting scent of his room, _his den_ , the place where he spent his time, there was something else… Forest fresh, like the sharpness of pine needles lit by moonlight during the cold winter, like home, and safety, and _desire_. 

Stiles silently padded out of bed and began looking around his room for the source. It was coming from his pile of dirty laundry? That didn’t seem right. He dug through the clothes, finding it was- Peter’s shirt? That’s what smelled so good? Even as his brain was reeling, he was holding the shirt up to his nose and inhaling deeply, like he was addicted to the scent that was wrapping around his mind and giving him a pleasant, dazed feeling. 

___Fuck_. Stiles’ dick was demanding attention between his legs. He pulled the shirt on, leaving it open, and wandered back to his bed, sliding between the cozy sheets and sliding an impatient hand down his body. As his hand wrapped around his aching erection, Stiles let out a whimpering cry under his breath; he was already leaking and flushed an angry red. He pumped his hand slowly, savoring the intense feeling that already had his toes curling. 

Stiles pulled the collar of the shirt up toward his nose and breathed in more of that intoxicating scent as he continued gripping his leaking dick, flicking his thumb over the head with every stroke to spread the wetness seeping out of the tip. His balls were already tight, he was so close to the edge, shaking and feeling like he was going to fly apart when he finally came. 

Mind wandering back to his dream, which was growing increasingly foggier with every moment, Stiles flashed back to the phantom sensation of hardness inexorably sliding inside his most private area, and reached down between his legs to press gently against his needy hole. As soon as his fingers brushed against it, he flew over the edge, white-hot pleasure overtaking every cell of his body. Stiles’ head tilted back and he bit his lip to suppress the loud moan that threatened to burst from his throat, hand still pumping and extending his climax as white ropes shot toward his stomach. 

As Stiles came down tears started leaking from his eyes before he began sobbing uncontrollably, feeling a devastating emptiness growing and roiling in his chest. It was like he was reaching out for someone that was no longer there, feeling an answering throb of pain in his wrist underneath the bandage. He could almost hear a mournful howling resonating somewhere deep inside him. 

“Shit, the bite,” Stiles hiccuped miserably, reaching blindly for a tissue. He cleaned himself up, still with tears seeping from his eyes, and slowly unwrapped the bandage, afraid of what he might see underneath it. 

It… It wasn’t like Scott’s bite, which had disappeared without a trace. There was a silvery-white imprint left behind, in the shape of Peter’s fangs. “What?” Stiles asked quietly in between quivering breaths as he traced the raised skin with shaking fingers, brain whirling with theories on what this could mean. 

There was a loud knock at Stiles’ door. “Kid? You okay?”

Stiles scrambled off the bed in a panic, pulling on a pair of dirty sweats from the floor and throwing the shirt toward his bed before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stared in horror at himself, caught in a partial shift with fangs gleaming out of this mouth, eyes flashing gold. “Just a second-” Stiles slurred in the general direction of the door, trying to calm his pounding heart. “Okay, it’s okay,” he said to himself softly, heaving in deep breaths and staring at his extended claws. Stiles’ mind flashed back to the breathing technique his childhood therapist had taught him to deal with anxiety. _Breathe in for four, hold for seven, release for eight._ Stiles repeated this several times, willing his body to calm down and shift back to normal. 

After a few minutes it worked, and Stiles was able to pull the door open a crack to see his father standing there in uniform, smelling like aftershave with a whiff of gun oil and old whiskey, concerned look on his face. “Hey Daddio,” Stiles said, aiming for carefree and wincing when the words came out in a croak. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” Stiles had had nightmares for years after his mother’s slow decline and passing, although they’d thankfully become less frequent the older he got. 

“...Yes-” Stiles said carefully, not thinking about the contents of his dream. “Can you call me out of school today? My head is killing me, I just- I need a day at home, please.” Stiles hadn’t made this ask in years.

The furrow between his father’s brows deepened, Stiles could see his father gearing up to deny the request. 

“Please, Dad?” Stiles asked again, thinking of the pull in his chest so his chin would start to quiver, tears returning to his eyes. 

The Sheriff folded. “Aw hell Stiles, okay. Just today, alright? You have to go back tomorrow.”

Stiles exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got to get to the station,” the man said with regret, “do you need anything before I go?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’ve got Tylenol in here, I’ll just take some and go back to bed. I’ll text and see if Scott can bring my homework.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight then, I’ll even bring home dinner.”

Stiles was too grateful to harp on his father about food choices. “Sounds good.”

Once he heard his father’s cruiser leave the driveway and drive down the street, he sprang into action, pulling jeans and a hoodie out of his dresser and throwing them on. He had nothing but swirling ideas from his research. Stiles needed answers, and he knew for sure Scott didn’t have them, but Derek, loath as he was to interact with him, Derek just might. 

Stiles didn’t bother to call out for the older werewolf as he walked up the steps of the shell remaining after the Hale fire and sat down on the splintery porch, hunching over, arms wrapped around his chest. He could hear Derek stalking quietly toward the door inside, and stomping out onto the porch. 

“Why are you here?” Derek growled, eyes flashing red as he advanced toward Stiles. 

“I needed to talk to you, without interruptions,” Stiles said desperately with tears welling up in his eyes, tamping down the furious growling in the back of his mind as he looked up at the looming figure. 

Derek’s face was impassive. “Why do you think I would care?”

“Dude,” Stiles snapped, “I was willing to cut off your arm when you needed help, and now I need your help. This is serious.”

“Alright then, spit it out,” Derek said, crossing his arms across his chest and raising his eyebrows in grudging curiosity. 

Stiles silently pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie and held his right wrist up for inspection. 

Derek’s breath caught strangely in his throat. “Is that-”

“Peter-” Stiles started, before his throat grew too tight to continue. 

Crouching down and taking Stiles’ wrist in a harsh grip, Derek turned his arm back and forth, watching the way the scars shimmered in the light. Stiles’ claws shifted out and a growl shot out of his throat unbidden when Derek reached out like he was going to touch it. Derek released his wrist with a nod, like something had been confirmed, then looked at him with a grimace. “He turned you, and that’s a mating bite.”

“I- I thought it might be something like that,” Stiles confessed miserably, holding back from breaking down into tears by the skin of his teeth. “I don’t know what to do. I feel- I need- It hurts. There’s this pull in my chest?”

Derek sighed heavily and sat down on the porch in front of Stiles. “Tell me how this happened, tell me everything.”

Stiles relayed the events in the hospital parking garage with a shaking voice and gave him a carefully edited version of what happened that morning, with the scent from Peter’s shirt. From Derek’s affronted sniff as Stiles tried to gloss over certain events, Stiles was humiliatingly sure Derek could put together the entire picture. 

Derek was stoic as Stiles finished his story, seemingly unmoved by Stiles’ quiet weeping. “Stiles… You can’t give a mating bite to someone who doesn’t consent. You had to want this for it to happen.”

Stiles digested this silently.

“I can’t do anything to help you,” Derek explained coldly. “Your wolf will never accept the person who killed your mate as an Alpha. I bet you can hardly stand to sit here now next to me.”

Derek was right. The maddened growling in the back of his mind was getting louder and louder, and his heart was pounding inside his chest with suppressed aggression. His claws were still out, and his shaky control was dangerously close to slipping. “What- What am I supposed to do?”

“There are other packs out there. You’ll have to find one and adapt. Otherwise, you’ll go full Omega, become a feral creature without a tether to your humanity, and be taken down, either by myself or by a passing hunter.”

Stiles growled deep in his throat at the idea of Derek, of anyone taking him down. “Fine,” he gritted out. 

“I’ll allow you to stay in town for now, as long as you stay in line, and stay away from my pack!” Derek said harshly. 

“You can’t tell me to stay away from my best friend!” Stiles’ self-control broke as he yelled and he leaped forward snarling, with fangs and claws extended. 

Derek rolled to the side and grabbed Stiles as he shot past, holding him down with claws digging into Stiles’ shoulders, pinning him with his bulk, and snarling into his face. “I can and I will! I’m his Alpha now, and he’s going to listen to my wishes.” Derek stood up and dragged Stiles with him, shoving him down the porch stairs. “Now go, before I _make_ you. And Stiles?” Derek flashed his eyes. “Don’t come back up here. These are Hale lands, and you’re no Hale.”

Stiles nodded grimly up at Derek, fangs gnashing in frustration and anger, shoulders bleeding inside his hoodie, and made his way back to the Jeep, snarling curses under his breath the entire way. He drove home through the preserve slowly, focusing on his breathing to keep the shift under control. 

Safely back inside his bedroom, Stiles changed his shirt, bandaged up his slowly leaking wounds, and sat down at his laptop to try and organize his research, now that he needed it for more personal reasons. He _had_ to learn to control himself and try to find a pack. Stiles lost himself to hyperfocus and shady occult sites for several hours, only coming out of it to his cellphone chirping for his attention. 

**✉ Scott**

**I can’t believe u**

**Y would u want Peter to do that?**

**✉Stiles**

**Scott u don’t understand**

**I said no and he just did it**

**✉ Scott**

**Derek says u had to want it**

**He said to stay away from u and I agree**

**Ur not my friend anymore**

Stiles hit the dial button with a trembling finger, trying desperately to reach his best friend. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number, and try again.”

Stiles dialed again in disbelief, only to receive the same message. “Fuck!” He yelled, kicking his desk chair across the room to crash into the wall, before dissolving into abject sobs on his bed. Eventually he fell asleep, clutching Peter’s shirt to his chest like a childhood toy, inhaling the scent. 

He was back in the woods, this time with the giant wolf by his side, fingers tangled in the thick mane of fur as he was led carefully through the dark snowy woods. They emerged to a now-familiar sight, but instead of a burned-out husk, the Hale house was whole and safe, with warm light spilling out of every window, illuminating the gently falling snow. 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Stiles said absently as the wolf kept trotting forward and Stiles slowed his pace, losing contact with the fur in his grip. 

The wolf yipped impatiently and circled back, nudging Stiles forward until he resumed walking. Stiles reluctantly followed the wolf up the stairs and into the house, walking through the unlocked door, and wandering into the foyer. 

A familiar voice called out from the depths of the house. “Stiles, is that you? Take off your shoes and coat, I’m in the kitchen.”

Stiles numbly followed the instructions, getting a glimpse of his pale face and ruddied cheeks in the foyer mirror as he toed out of his boots and hung his coat on a clear hook. The wolf was waiting, tongue lolling out as he watched Stiles, before wandering down the hallway after a significant look over his shoulder. Stiles followed behind him, taking in the family photos hung on the walls, assessing the layers of scent. It smelled like a happy family, children, fresh bread, laughter, and love. Eventually, the hallway emptied out into a large airy kitchen, with a copper hood above the large stove, and gleaming countertops. 

Peter was standing by the stove, still holding a stirring spoon in his hand as he beamed across the room at Stiles. “Don’t be shy, precious boy, come, let me look at you.”

Stiles walked numbly around the kitchen island, feeling that painful tug in his chest stronger than ever. “Peter? How are you here?” He asked in a shaky voice, reaching out with a trembling hand to clutch at his ludicrously soft, deep blue, v-neck sweater. 

Peter set the spoon down gently and wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling the boy’s head to rest against his shoulder. “There you are darling, it’s alright now, I’m here. I wanted to be here last night too, but my wolf got a little, shall we say, _over-excited_.”

Stiles was momentarily outraged by the implication until he realized that Peter’s embrace felt so, so incandescently good. Being in Peter’s arms was like opening a present from someone you love, like sinking into a warm bath, like sipping hot cocoa by a roaring fire on a cold winter night. Stiles’ shoulders began shaking as he felt the warmth blossom in his chest, replacing the coldness previously in place. Tears were leaking from his eyes into the cashmere below as he turned his head into Peter’s neck and inhaled deeply, letting out a pathetic whimper and licking helplessly at his skin. 

“Shhh,” Peter cooed softly, stroking Stiles’ hair and holding him in place. “It’s okay my love.”

“It’s not okay, I killed you!” Stiles sobbed into Peter’s shoulder. “You bit me and I killed you!” Stiles’ knees gave out and Peter sank to the floor with him, still shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth. 

“Please,” Peter whispered, “please believe me I never meant to leave you alone.”

“I’m alone because I killed you!” 

“Shhh, love, you didn’t kill me, Derek did. You only did your best to protect your friend, your brother, against an insane adversary. I’m so proud of how strong you were, my clever, brave little mate.”

Stiles eventually stopped crying, sniffling into Peter’s neck. “Why did you bite me even though I said no? Now I’m alone, Scott- Scott blocked my number, he said we’re not friends because Derek said so! Peter, I’m so scared, I’m scared I’m going to lose my mind.”

Peter sighed deeply and scrubbed his hand over Stiles’ buzzcut, drawing him by the back of the neck so Peter could look into his eyes. “Listen to me precious, listen to my heartbeat. I don’t apologize often. When I bit you, I was still lost in my need for revenge and without an anchor. I shouldn’t have given you the bite without you saying yes, for that, and for leaving you alone, I am truly, deeply sorry.” 

Stiles could hear the truth in his words and in his steady heartbeat. “I believe you, but… What am I supposed to do?”

Peter grinned a sharp, feral smile, showing just a hint of fang. “My dearest darling boy, I have a plan, but I need your help. Listen closely…”

Stiles woke the next morning before his alarm, stretching languorously in the early morning light. He groped wildly for his phone on the nightstand, flipping it open to see only a text from his dad, dated last night, letting him know he’d gotten hung up at the station and wouldn’t be home. Typical. The Sheriff was at work more often than he was at home. Sometimes Stiles thought he slept there on purpose, just to get some space from his annoying spaz of a kid. The wrenching pull in his chest had receded to a mild ache, soothed by the dream Stiles had been having. 

The dream! Stiles shot straight up in bed and stumbled towards his desk, wildly grabbing for paper and pen so he could write down the details before he forgot them. He could get everything he needed easily after a weekend trip to the hardware store and a sneaky hustle into the preserve, well away from the Hale house. The hardest part was going to be setting the trap, manipulating all the people into alignment. 

School was objectively awful, Stiles mused to himself a handful of weeks later, prodding at the mystery meat on his lunch tray as he sat at an empty table in the cafeteria. It stunk to high heaven of armpits and lust, everything was loud, lockers, period bells, students. Stiles had spent the first few days after turning flinching at every dropped book and suppressing the urge to rip off Jackson’s head when he postured wildly. The pain of Scott’s abandonment had faded surprisingly quickly, with Scott ignoring Stiles entirely and mooning after Allison, doing everything short of spreading his coat in puddles for her to step on. Derek had also clearly been busy from the looks of the three students that had banded together in classes and at lunch, all coming to school wide-eyed and just-this-side of growly until they adjusted over the past few days.

The first full moon had been… Well, in the grand scheme of things, it actually hadn’t been too bad. Peter had assured him that without an Alpha to call him, Stiles' only problem would be his own self-control, which had developed rapidly under Peter’s guidance at night. There had maybe been a _minor_ incident with a cheeky bastard of a squirrel who’d chittered loudly by Stiles’ window and been chased into the woods behind his house, but after that Stiles spent the night curled up in his bed, dreaming sweetly of Peter and his wolf like he did every night. In his dream, Peter had praised him and stroked his hair as Stiles relayed his heroic victory over the small rodent while splayed over Peter’s lap and chest on the couch. The cuddling had evolved into ‘victory kisses’ that Stiles claimed from his cuddlywolf’s lips, and ended with them rutting against each other through their pants, leading Stiles to wake up with sticky sheets the next morning. 

Stiles had kept busy after school working the plan, spending hours at night on the message board Peter had pointed him toward, carefully laying the groundwork for his trap. He’d posed as a scared, young teenage werewolf who’d been bitten by a rogue Alpha and stumbled on the forum by chance while desperately researching to make sense of what had happened. It was easy enough to winnow down the circling predators and find one who was reckless enough to join him on a full moon night in the preserve. Other users had warned him that the Alpha had a reputation for offering scared young werewolves a place in his pack, werewolves who nobody would hear from ever again. Stiles had done enough digging using his father’s login credentials to trace the trail of ‘animal attacks’ across the state and confirm his suspicions that the Alpha was carelessly disposing of the bodies once he’d finished getting his thrills. 

The night was here, and Stiles was almost vibrating with dark excitement. He’d already made a run by the abandoned depot that Derek had made his base of operations, and listened to him trying to subdue his new Betas on their first full moon. Stiles had scoffed quietly at the uproar, feeling highly superior since he hadn’t tried to attack or eat any sentient beings on his first full moon. 

Stiles was waiting in the shadows of the clearing, watching as the Alpha walked into the moonlight, guided by the GPS on his cell phone. The werewolf was handsome enough to lure even the most mistrustful teen into a false sense of security, with his sandy blond hair and lazy grin. A less observant person might have missed how his claws were at the ready, gleaming in the glow of the moon. 

The Alpha called out, using the false name Stiles had given.

Stiles projected fear into his voice as he shakily replied. “I don’t- I don’t think this was such a good idea.”

The Alpha sniffed the air and grinned savagely, turning on his heel and running toward where Stiles was hidden by foliage. Stiles was ready, and shifted, running through the forest with all the supernatural speed he could muster, toward the Hale house. Stiles was smaller than the Alpha, using his size to his advantage as he dodged around trees and leaped over small streams, keeping a safe distance as he led the other werewolf on a merry chase. 

Stiles shot out of the woods toward the ruins of the house, pelting up the stairs and across the front porch, hiding just inside the front door with his heart pounding from adrenaline and excitement. He carefully donned the respirator and gloves, then pulled out the wolfsbane powder he’d first dried then ground from fresh flowers where it was carefully triple bagged and tucked away in his back pocket, dumping a handful into his palm as the Alpha thundered up the front steps and across the porch. 

“Olly olly oxen free.” The Alpha cooed into the darkness as he stepped through the front door. “Come out little wolf, I promise, I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to talk. Don’t you remember, you need a pack and I can-”

The Alpha didn’t know what hit him, falling to the ground with a dull thud as Stiles threw the handful of wolfsbane powder into his face. Stiles smiled victoriously under the respirator and upended the rest of the bag across his nose and mouth, rubbing it in for good measure. Stiles easily dragged the deadweight across the splintery floor and dumped the unconscious Alpha into Peter’s grave, trying to avoid looking too closely at his mate’s corpse. 

Pulling his gloves off, Stiles removed the respirator, and went to adjust the mirrors so the moonlight would fall on the frankly disturbing tableau. It only took a small angling of one of the mirrors before the moonlight bounced around the room, pinging from surface to surface on the way into the hole. He peeked over the edge, wincing at the sight of Peter’s decaying body and pulling back to flop on the floor dramatically as he waited for something, for anything to happen.

Long minutes passed before Stiles commented with a shaking voice, breaking the hushed silence. “This better work, or I’m kicking your ass tonight.” 

“Dear heart, I’d love to see you try.” 

“Peter!” Stiles scrambled back toward the grave, peeking over the edge with a beaming smile to see his mate, covered in grave dirt, but alive and in the flesh, looking at the other occupant of his grave with derision. “Are you going to do it now?”

“Yes. Why, are you going to watch?”

Stiles tilted his head, thinking of the dozens of cases he’d read about, the savagery inherent in the wounds left on the bodies of innocent victims, who must have been so confused to have a trusted figure turn on them at the last minute. “Yes.”

Peter’s claws shifted out and drew across the Alpha’s throat as he howled victoriously, head tilted to the sky as the hot arterial spray steamed in the cool night air and hissed onto the dirt. When it was done, Peter dropped the body to the bottom of the grave carelessly and climbed out. 

“Did it work?” Stiles had watched wide-eyed over the long seconds as the Alpha bled out. 

Peter flashed his red eyes at Stiles and grinned savagely, stalking across the floor to claim Stiles’ mouth in a bruising kiss. “It worked.” 

Getting rid of a body was hard work, even when accompanied by an accomplished murderer. By the time they made it back to the motel Stiles had booked on the outskirts of town, the sun was flirting with the horizon. 

“My dad’s going to be home soon,” Stiles said regretfully as he handed over the key card. “Will you be okay from here?”

Peter caressed the side of Stiles’ face with a gentle hand, drawing him in for a soft kiss. “I will be just fine my precious boy. I’ll see you later?”

Stiles nodded, and trapped Peter’s hand against his cheek, rubbing his face and chin against Peter’s wrist, drinking in the intoxicating scent of his mate straight from the source. “Tonight, as soon as my dad leaves for work.”

Being away from his mate now that he was amongst the living was torture. Stiles was jittery and impatient all afternoon once he woke up, feeling the tug in his chest pulling toward the other side of town. His dad even noticed at dinner, leading to an exceedingly awkward conversation about “how Stiles was feeling” and “was everything okay?” Stiles wasn’t exactly keen to reveal his anticipation to spend the night with a murderous man in his thirties, and brushed his dad off, saying that he was stressed about a school project. 

Finally, his father left for work, and Stiles was able to make his way across Beacon Hills. Peter opened the door of the motel room just enough and pulled Stiles inside, pushing him against the closed door and capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss that left Stiles breathless and aching. 

“Hello to you too!” Stiles laughed, tilting his head toward Peter for more and instead squawking in surprise as Peter started pawing at Stiles’ shirt, pulling it up so he could caress Stiles’ sides and get skin on skin contact. 

Stiles pulled his shirt off and Peter ducked down, huffing deep breaths at Stiles’ neck and shoulder. 

“You smell like mine, you smell like mate.” Peter slurred into the crook of Stiles’ neck, nipping gently with his fangs and then kissing and soothing the pink marks left behind, drinking in the whimpers and moans that were falling from Stiles’ mouth as the shivery pain-pleasure flooded his system. 

Peter ground his hips against Stiles, crowding him against the door and covering him with his body as their hardnesses met with maddening friction. Stiles moaned as he was lifted up with sure hands just under his ass and carried across the room toward the bed, which Peter gently threw him down on. 

Stiles watched with wide eyes and heaving chest as Peter stripped off the gray v-neck shirt, revealing the muscular expanse of skin Stiles had tried so hard to avoid all those weeks ago in the hospital garage. Stiles looked his fill this time, drinking it in like a traveler at a desert oasis as his eyes traced from the contours of his shoulders, chest, and abs to the dark treasure train peeking up above his waistband. 

“Shit you’re so hot-” Stiles blurted out, words falling from his mouth and completely bypassing his filter. 

Peter just grinned cockily and unbuttoned his jeans, shimmying them down his hips and revealing his complete disregard for the societal convention called underwear. He was already partially hard, cock plumped with anticipation for his delicious mate. Stiles whimpered softly as Peter finished kicking off his jeans, his cock already looked _big_ only half-hard, he wasn’t sure at all how that was going to fit inside. Peter prowled up the bed toward Stiles gracefully, only stopping once he was firmly on top of Stiles, pinning his hands down and nuzzling against his chest, whispering endearments softly into his skin. 

Stiles cried out and arched up underneath Peter as he bit down, hard, with blunt teeth on Stiles’ chest. “Fuck,” he gasped, tossing his head back and moving his hips restlessly underneath Peter’s weight. 

Peter pulled back and surveyed the bite mark with a satisfied grin, and ground down watching avidly as Stiles tossed his head back in pleasure. He slid down to Stiles’ body, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down with him. Stiles flushed pink as he was revealed, dick springing back up toward his navel and hitting his stomach with a wet slap. 

“Beautiful,” Peter said reverently, caressing Stiles’ now bare thighs as he pulled the clothing the rest of the way off and dropped them on the floor by the foot of the bed. 

Stiles, laid bare in front of his mate, floundered for a moment before making grabby hands at Peter, who smirked and shifted his weight, pouncing on the teen. All the skin on skin was incredibly intoxicating. Peter was bracketing Stiles in from head to toe, covering him in his scent and capturing his lips in a savage kiss. 

Moaning when they separated, Stiles whimpered, “Peter- I need-” 

“Shh love, I’ve got you,” Peter whispered against Stiles’ lips. 

He rolled off of Stiles, who propped up on his elbows to watch Peter rummaging through the bedside table, and emerging with lube. 

Stiles blushed. “So… I guess you found that in the go-bag?”

Peter threw his head back and laughed, uncut cock bobbing in the air, before coming back to Stiles on the bed, and arranging him like a doll, with one leg over Peter’s shoulder and the other bent at the knee, falling gracefully to the side. Peter popped open the lube with a soft click and drizzled some on his fingers before tracing one slippery digit over Stiles’ hole. 

Stiles let out a strangled moan as his nerve endings practically sang at the touch. “Inside, please Peter, inside-” 

“That’s a good boy, just relax for me.” Peter kissed Stiles’ ankle and pressed one finger inside, gently smoothing the lube into the tight passage. 

Stiles arched his back and humped the air, trying to get more of Peter inside of him, gasping at the sensation of being touched _there_ by someone else. “More!” Stiles demanded and was rewarded by Peter sinking another finger into his tight heat and hooking them around his prostate. Stiles cried out at the zing of sensation, the slight burn of the stretch, the hammer of pleasure pinging up his spine. Two fingers rapidly became three, thrusting and grinding, knuckles bumping against his fluttering rim as the fingers plunged in and out of his ass. 

“‘M ready-” Stiles sobbed, reduced to begging as his dick throbbed between his legs, “please, ‘m ready!.”

Peter pulled his fingers out and coated his cock with lube, then lined up his cock with Stiles’ puckered opening, sliding inside in one slow, unstoppable movement. 

“Fuck!” Stiles swore, feeling the tingling burn and ache more acutely, and Peter stopped pressing forward. “No, don’t stop, please, don’t ever stop.”

Growling and nipping at Stiles’ ankle, Peter began steadily fucking in and out of Stiles, rocking back and forth, staying pressed as close as he could, adjusting the angle until Stiles started moaning uncontrollably with every stroke, feeling Peter’s cock hammer against his prostate with every thrust. Stiles was losing control of his shift in the midst of pleasure, whining deep in his throat, gums aching as he tried to hold back his fangs, claws out and ripping into the cheap sheets on the bed. 

“Let it go, baby. Let me see you.” Peter cooed softly as he rolled his hips, rubbing irresistibly against Stiles’ sweet spot. 

Stiles let out a deep breath that was almost a growl, fangs and brow shifting, back arching and hips grinding up to meet Peter. His senses were filled with nothing but _Peter_ , his scent layered so thick with desire and musk, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of Stiles, the slap of his hips against Stiles’ ass, the feel of his skin, the lingering taste of his mouth on Stiles’ tongue, and God, the sight of him, face contorted in ecstasy as his cock was squeezed inside of Stiles’ tightness. 

The fire in his core was being stoked to a fever pitch, each thrust sliding over his prostate, contributing to the blaze that threatened to consume Stiles. “I’m close,” he gasped, feeling his balls draw up and the familiar energy coil between his hips. 

“Bite me,” Peter growled, leaning forward and holding his wrist to Stiles’ mouth even as the pace of his hips sped up, chasing his own peak inside of Stiles. 

Stiles bit down gently, and as his fangs parted Peter’s skin, the world went supernova white with a feedback loop of pleasure that spiraled and spiraled upward until Stiles could no longer tell up from down or even who he was in that moment, his emotions blended up with Peter’s in a whirlpool of bliss. 

When Stiles came back to himself, there was a cooling pool of cum shot over his chest and stomach, and Peter was just beginning to slowly pull out of Stiles’ ass. The warmth that he felt hugging Peter for the first time was back, a steady glow in his chest along with the thrum of emotions quivering along their mating bond. Bone deep satisfaction, pure love, triumph and possessiveness tangled together, it was like a doorway directly into Peter, one that Stiles swore to cherish for the rest of his days. 

As they fell asleep tangled together, sometime later after countless kisses pressed into each other’s skin, endless amounts of affection whispered gently against the column of their throats, gentle touch pressing over the bruises on Stiles’ hips and the shiny scar on Peter’s wrist, Stiles couldn’t help but sigh in bone-deep satisfaction. He was exactly where he needed to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic, please be gentle.


End file.
